by Alex Rivers
“Getting there,” I said.
“Okay. I got a call from the station. There’s a meeting about the latest development. The dancers. I think it might be another attack. Our forensics teams are debating if it’s a toxin from some kind of chemical weapon, or if it’s some sort of shared psychosis.”
“And you think it’s another fae terrorist attack, like the explosions?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time. Strasbourg in the fifteen hundreds. The dancing plague killed hundreds. At the time, they blamed fairies.”
I nodded, recognition dawning. We’d studied it in an abnormal psychology course. “Modern science attributed it to a shared psychosis—folie à plusieurs, ‘the madness of many’—or to the hallucinogenic fungi. The same bullshit ergot theory that people think explains the Salem Witch Trials.”
“And the debate still rages, but you and I know better. I don’t suppose you have any idea what’s the purpose of all this?”
I shook my head. “To instill terror. Someone must be feeding off it, I guess.” Someone other than me, that is.
He nodded slowly, considering this. “Okay. I have to go. You’ll keep me informed when the abductor calls you again, yeah?”
“Sure,” I lied. “If you need me, just call the front desk and ask for my room. I’ll get a new mobile phone as soon as I can.”
He nodded, his hazel eyes studying me. Then, to my surprise, he wrapped me in a warm hug. I leaned against him, breathing in his clean smell, listening to his heartbeat.
“This wasn’t your fault,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said.
With one last glance, he turned and left, and I watched him walk down the hall to the elevator. A tear rolled down my cheek, and I wiped it away, stepping back into the room.
I surveyed the space—the clean, white walls, the enormous white duvet. My gaze trailed over to the paper where I’d written down the message. That molten rage burned through my veins, fueling my mind, my desire for revenge.
And with that simmering rage, a plan began to spark in my mind.
Even so, I’d need more time, which meant I had to complete the next task.
And there was no way in hell Gabriel would be on board for this one.
Chapter 20
Darkness surrounded me as I gazed up at the Tower of London, the rough stone walls that had stood here for nearly a thousand years. A fortress with four towers stood in the center—the White Tower, the oldest part of the structure. Around the White Tower were two concentric rings of stone walls. It was three in the morning, and hardly anyone lurked here at this time of night.
The Tower walls loomed high above the Thames, cast in a bright, white light. I paced the pedestrianized walk by the river, choosing my point of entrance carefully. I was dressed entirely in black, a large, nearly empty backpack slung on my back. Right now, I stood just above the Traitor’s Gate—the tunnel that ran from the river, under the street beneath me into the Tower walls, where terrified queens had once cowered in boats, on the way to their executions.
As I surveyed the stone walls, my body pulsed with raw energy. Waves of fear floated on the wind as the dancing plague terrorized London. On the way here, I’d lingered in the shadows by some of the dancers, feeding myself off their terror. I didn’t feel great about it, but now, strength coursed through my blood.
The message had been clearer than the rest, or maybe I was getting used to the abductor’s style. This time, I didn’t need Gabriel to work it out with me.
Sing a song of six birds,
They’re yearning to be free.
Ravens in the tower.
Scarlett is with me.
Walk them past the stone gates
Until the birds are gone.
The White Hill’s beckoning:
You have until the dawn.
After spending countless hours listening to Scarlett ramble about the history of London, I’d heard plenty about the ravens. Supposedly, they guarded the city, and if they ever escaped the Tower, terrible things would happen. However, considering the city was currently being torn apart by the fae, I didn’t have a great deal of faith in the ravens’ ability to ward off disasters.
Still, before leaving the hotel, I’d logged onto one of the lobby’s communal computers, and googled the Tower Ravens. According to legends, a British king named Bendigeidfran had ordered his followers to cut off his own head. They then buried it under the White Hill, where the Tower now stood, as a talisman to ward off enemies. He was also known as Bran, which meant “raven.” Other legends described ravens flocking toward the smell of corpses left to rot at the Tower after executions, the enemies of the crown. Too bad none of this was going to help me figure out how to break into the Tower and get a small flock of ravens beyond the walls without any guards noticing.
I had until dawn to get them out, and this time, I’d be working on my own.
Gabriel had been complicit in our little zookeeper ruse with the London police, but asking him to look the other way while I broke into the Tower of London to commit a burglary was another thing. In fact, it was probably some type of treason, and there was no way he would have let me go through with this if he’d known what I was up to.
The Tower of London’s security was tight and impressive because of the Crown Jewels. Lucky for me, most of the security was meant for the jewels, and not for the ravens. What sort of lunatic would want to steal a bunch of ravens?
As far as I could tell, no clever alarm systems protected the Tower grounds, where the rookery stood. I just had to avoid the fifty or so armed guards who patrolled the premises, carrying automatic weapons. Oh, and I had to scale the Tower’s walls, which had been built to repel entire medieval armies.
My first problem was that a bright, white light illumined the entire outer wall. In my pack, I had a rope and grappling hook that I’d picked up from a hiking store earlier. But it would take a few minutes to scale the wall, and during that time, I would be very, very visible to anyone walking past, and to boats in the Thames. Granted, there weren’t many people out at this hour, but I couldn’t risk it.
No one would see me down at the moat, though. In the shadows, I slipped along the southern side, where I found a shallow, dry moat. Furtively, I looked around me, making sure no one was watching. I saw only shadows. Carefully, I climbed the iron bars that stood at the edge of the moat for public safety, and dropped down ten feet or so, landing on the soft grass.
From there, I walked toward the Tower wall until I found what I was looking for. The southeastern corner of the tower had a spot that was cast in shadow—a good place to climb without being seen.
My heart thumping, I pulled out the grappling hook and rope from my backpack. I checked to make sure the rope was uncoiled, and fixed my eyes on a spot at the top of the wall. I tossed the grappling hook, my senses sharp and focused.
It hit the top of the wall with a painfully loud clang. I waited for a few seconds, my heart in my throat, to see if anyone would show up to investigate. Taking a long breath, I grabbed the rope again, and rappelled up the wall.
I felt completely helpless on the wall. Despite the shadows and my dark clothes, I was sure someone would spot me. As I pulled myself upwards, one arm over the other, I waited for the inevitable shout of “Stop, thief!” or “Freeze!” But none came. Finally, I reached the top of the wall and hoisted myself over the edge, standing on the battlement—a wide stone path, with walls on either side. Crouching, I moved along the battlement, peering over the edges until I found a part of the wall where I could most easily climb down without a rope.
I hoisted myself over the edge, using the gaps in the wall, my fingers white with effort. Without the energy that pulsed through my bones, I doubt I could have managed this. But blazing with the city’s terror, I felt like I could do anything. At the bottom of the wall, I crouched to a point shrouded in shadow, and glimpsed the first guard patrolling through. He was tall, well-muscled, and his movements were alert and sharp. I held m
y breath as he walked past me, his footsteps slow and measured on the stone floor. Once he walked around the bend, I left my hiding spot, skulking though the shadows.
The rookery was in the inner yard of the Tower, and I had to get over the second wall to get there. It took a while to find the right spot, and I’d needed to duck into the shadows as a guard patrolled past me. By the time I began climbing the second wall, my body was so jacked on adrenaline, I thought I might have a heart attack.
I climbed the second wall with no rope, too nervous about the loud clang of the grappling hook. I managed to find a pipe that helped me part of the way, and from there, it was a steep climb to the top using shallow fingerholds and footholds.
After crossing over the second battlement, it was only a few more minutes before I was in the inner yard. It took me a few moments to spot the rookery—the black metal cages abutting a stone wall, with large alcoves for the ravens.
I moved across the grasses, flooded with amazement and disbelief. I had successfully broken into the inner yard of the Tower of London.
“Stop!” A gruff voice pierced the silence, and I could hear the click of a gun’s safety switch.
Chapter 21
I froze in place, my heart sinking. The rookery was only a few yards away, but it might as well have been miles.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
I turned around, keeping my face as blank as possible as I faced the gray-bearded yeoman. My eyes went to his gun—an SA80. If he pulled the trigger, there would be no more Cassandra to save Scarlett. The man holding the gun was dressed in the dark blue and embroidered red of a Yeoman Warder’s uniform—a Beefeater, but without the hat. Maybe he didn’t bother with the hat at night. Or maybe he didn’t want to get blood all over it when he shot me. His keen, dark eyes glistened in the dark, piercing me.
I held up my hands, feigning a British accent. “Don’t shoot. I’m from MI6. I am going to reach very carefully for my identification.”
He raised the gun just a fraction, enough to clarify that he wasn’t about to mess around. With snail-speed movements, my hand went to my collar and, ever so gently, dipped into my neckline.
I saw his eyes widen as they met Alvin’s crystal, tied around my throat. Alvin had said this pendant would make a human follow my commands—presumably a sort of hypnosis. Would it be enough for this man to lower his gun?
“Okay,” I said. “Now, when I say—”
“Oh my,” he gasped, his eyes widening.
It seemed to be working, so I held the pendant aloft. “Right. What I want you to do—”
“I am not worthy.”
“I… what?”
He lowered his eyes. “Please don’t strike me down.”
“Well, you’re the one holding the gun.”
“My apologies, Goddess!” He quickly lowered the gun. “I meant no disrespect!”
I stared at him, at a loss for words.
“I’m a terrible man.” He stared at the ground. “I never truly believed in the power of the gods. I was a fool!”
I swallowed hard. I hadn’t quite expected the pendant to work this way. “You think I’m a god?”
“Think? No, Goddess.” He clutched his hand to his chest. “I believe! I know it with all my heart! Shall I call all the other men in the tower to bask in your glory?”
I held out a hand. “No! Definitely not. Your basking is plenty for me. And now I have some god-business to attend to, over there by the rookery.”
“Of course.” He bowed low.
I crossed the grass, my mind whirling. I couldn’t believe Alvin had wanted me to use this on Scarlett. As I moved closer to the cages, I heard footfalls behind me, and I turned to see the yeoman following me.
I frowned. “You are disturbing my divine rookery work.”
“Of course.” He bowed his head. “Can I be of any service?”
“Do you have keys to the rookery?”
“Of course.”
“And to the gate?”
“Yes, my Lady of Divine Terror.”
I wrinkled my nose at the nickname. “Wait here, okay?”
“Of course, O Wrathful One.”
“Please be quiet. Are there any patrol guards who might show up here?”
“I am the only one stationed here until six, Mistress of Dread, Mother of Death.”
He was obviously talking crap, and yet his words sent a strange lick of fear up my spine. The buried memories, deep under the surface of my mind, began to rumble—the fevered hammering of the dark things underground. I clamped down on them as tight as I could, shoving those dark thoughts under the surface of my mind.
“If you don’t stop it with the nicknames, I will smite the shit out of you. Be quiet for a second. I need to do something.”
If Scarlett were here, she’d be laughing her ass off. She’d probably have asked the yeoman to invent a hymn in my honor. As soon as I got her back, I was going to tell her all about this.
I rummaged in my backpack, finding the raisins I prepared earlier. I tossed them through the rookery’s metal bars, moving from one cage to another to toss them into each cage. I tapped the metal bars to wake up the ravens, and they squawked, jumping around, pecking at the raisins.
“Praised be the divine Goddess who feeds the hungry birds…” the man muttered to himself, rocking back and forth.
“They’re not hungry,” I muttered.
“Then why are you—forgive me, I didn’t mean to question your divine will.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” I could be a kind god, who shared her wisdom with her believers… believer. “Did you ever read the book Danny, the Champion of the World?”
“No, divine Goddess.”
“It’s a fantastic book. By Roald Dahl.”
He nodded eagerly. “It will be my holy scripture.”
I considered it. I could think of worse scriptures. “Sure. Well, in the book, they put sleeping pills in raisins to knock out all the pheasants in the forest.”
“Why? If I may ask, O Glorious—”
“Because… I actually don’t really remember. But it’s a great book. And I’m really happy that I read it.”
One of the ravens wasn’t sharing the feast. I looked at it, annoyed, and tapped the bars by its head.
It looked at me. “Squawk! Nevermore!”
I jumped back. “It can talk!”
“Yes, Goddess. Ravens with proper training can learn to speak extremely well. I’ve been teaching them.”
It whistled, fixing its eye on me. “Goddess! Squawk! Nevermore, Goddess!”
“Good morning,” I said. “Eat your raisins.”
“Squawk! Darkness there and nothing more. Squawk!”
“So you’ve been teaching them Poe.”
“Poe, and some other things…” he trailed off.
“Squawk! He pulled up the hem of my dress!”
I took a deep breath. “Romance, by any chance?”
The yeoman nodded.
“Wonderful,” I said. “What’s his name?”
“Odin.”
“Of course it is. Odin, eat your raisins.”
“Squawk! His hot mouth claimed mine. Nevermore!”
“Ravished by the Captain,” the man explained. “A terrible book.”
“Shhh… look.” I pointed to one of the ravens, who stood on a perch in the rookery, its body slumping. It suddenly dropped down to the floor, unconscious. I let out a long sigh. Hopefully, it was asleep, and not dead from overdose. I’d filled each of the raisins with a drop of the tranquilizer, but I wasn’t sure how much it would take to knock out a raven.
“Squawk! Nevermore, Goddess!”
That seemed like a forbidding portent, but I pushed my reservations to the back of my skull. Slowly, the ravens dropped to the ground, until only Odin remained standing.
“Okay, Yeoman, please open the doors of the rookery, and hand me the sleeping ravens.”
“Of course, Mother of Terror. I am happy to serve�
�”
As he unlocked the cages doors, he muttered quietly to himself. I slung the backpack off my back, unzipping it. Gently, the yeoman began handing me the ravens, one by one. At last, the yeoman handed me Odin.
“I need you too,” I said.
“Squawk! Take off your dress!”
“Not now, Odin. Come on.” I made a grab for it and it hopped away, squawking angrily.
“Allow me, O Glorious One.” The man grabbed Odin and held him nestled under his arm.
“Okay.” My stomach clenched. “Listen. It’s my divine command that you don’t tell anyone about this night, and that you continue your life as if nothing happened.”
“I want to worship you. I can pray morning and night—”
“No need for that, really.” I felt as if I needed to impart some sort of wisdom to him. “Just be decent to people, and try not to be a jerk.”
“Should I fast one month every year?”
“No, seriously, that’s a terrible idea. Just be nice to people, okay?”
“Can I at least have one day every year to honor your glorious presence?”
“Sure.” I gave up. “And on that day, eat and drink and have fun.”
“Thank you, Goddess of Horror.”
“Please show me to the gate. And remember… not a word to anyone, okay?”
Chapter 22
“Nevermore, Goddess. Squawk!”
My eyes opened and I blinked, trying to understand where I was, who I was, and who was talking to me. As I rubbed my eyes, the events of last night slammed into my mind. I glanced at the time—eleven in the morning. I never slept that late. Panicking, I scrambled from the bed and checked the ravens. Apart from Odin, they all still slept in the corner of the room.
They seemed okay. Their chests rose and fell slowly, and I could feel a pulse at their necks.
I sighed in relief. Once Scarlett was home safe, I’d return the ravens to the Tower. I wondered if the yeoman would still want to worship me, or if that was a temporary situation.
